


Never Look Back

by GypsyMoon



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Confessions, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing in front of a gravesite, Proximity breaches, Running from the past, Trust Issues, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2169969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyMoon/pseuds/GypsyMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While her world goes dark, her fight with the past becomes a division between them. She loves Steve, but she can't trust her heart to chase after him. CA: WS Romangers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Look Back

 

**All characters belong to Marvel Comics**

**I own nothing**

* * *

It was a monotonous testament of the heart.

Inhaling the humid breeze, Natasha stood observant underneath the listless shadows of lush green dotted the rough branches canopying over Nick Fury's grave site.

It was method of erasing his identity; a clean slate, a rebuilding of a new life. She knew Fury was going deep into the gray mists of deception to find a purpose to carry on the fight. There was no more structures to hide behind. SHIELD was dissembled and tangling secrets were scattered across the internet. Chain links of were broken and fragments of HYDRA still lingered in a small, dark fraction of the world. It wasn't the endgame. It was late spring, an elemental sign of rebirth out of the ashes of failures.

Everything would slowly mending back together, and time would soon betray the weakness of humanity's and divisions would become breached and enforcement would escalate into trails, imprisonment and new world order was an encroaching storm that will soon set a course into the heart of liberty-freedom would become a high price-good men would sign over their souls in blood. Everyone had their demons.

She had to run from hers, even though she had a wingless angel shielding her from the red abyss.

As the distant church bells knelled in the humid, Natasha crossed her arms securely over her chest and fixedly stared at him. Steve stood nonporous and calm in front of a blossoming oak tree. His soft golden hair ruffled and windswept and his lucent azure eyes sober against the flecks of sunlight piercing from the rustling leaves over him.

The transcendence of warmth caressed across the chiseled outlines of his youthful, angular face. A leather bomber jacket hung over the dense expanse of his broad shoulders: frayed jeans fitted smug around his V- shaped waist. A plain white shirt revealed his undulated, impenetrable muscles underneath. He looked utterly disarmed by the recurring grief that shot through his veins as intense, kinetic streaks of lightning did against the obstruction of clouds. They were his burdens, faults and memories. He carried them close to the chest.

When he sensed her imposing pretense, Steve recalled his strength and lifted his intent gaze; he ambled closer to her with his regal poise and valor. He froze in mid-step, meeting her halfway in front of the grave. His auroral blue eyes became liquid steel as he stood his ground, searching for the resolve of truth hidden beyond the swirls of gray captured in her green eyes. Tentatively, he inched closer to her proximity, so close that she felt the pulsating currents of heat radiate off his solid body. It entered through the hollow ivory of her bones. He smiled at her fondly, and shifted a little as the ground suddenly felt uneven.

"Natasha," Steve firmly whispered, his voice merged into a soft utterance. There was a shred of regret wavering in his baritone. He extended his large hand, kneading his fingers through the ringlets of copper with ease flooding in his veins. He was tender-almost giving her a touch of grace. He lowered his dismal gaze down at the sodden layers of grass; before he met the molten depthless of her guarded teal eyes.

"It's good to see you," he clasped his full lips together, dipping his gaze pensively at the marble marker. "I guess both of us have different roads to take. I never thought it would ever come to this choice. I don't belong with SHIELD."

Natasha pulled her lips into a gentle smirk, "I think you've already made that clear on our first recon mission, Steve," she teased, narrowing her eyes at the grave and released a ragged exhale. "We both know that things will never be the same—our lives are too different, and now that everything has been compromised," She said, swallowing down a constricting lump down her throat, and stiffened her lips into a flat, tight line. "It's better that we leave what we had behind us, Rogers, you need to snap off those threads, and move forward without a partner."

Steve looked rather perplexed, but nodded solemnly in agreement. He move conveyed another step closer; looking steadily into her wary eyes. "Is that what you want, Nat?" he asked, with concern. She said nothing, and he set his hand on her shoulder. "Look, I don't want to force you into doing something that you will come to regret. I respect your decision –but don't walk away because you're afraid that your past will come and find you again, Nat. Don't feel that you need to run away because you think that's the way. I know how much the past can keep you from living. It doesn't mean that you have to let it control you. There's always a better choice to be made."

Feeling a sharp sting in her chest, Natasha mashed her teeth into her bottom lip, and encompassed her hand on his cheek, rubbing her fingers over his strong jaw. "I'm not running about I'm afraid, Steve," she answered him, throat clogging up. She wrenched her eyes away from his feverish gaze. "I have so many questions that need answers. Things that I need to clear out of my head." I have to find a way to wipe my red ledger clean so I can finally live."

He nodded sincerely, pulling away from her. "I just want to tell you-"he paused in mid-sentence, feeling tears prick in his blue eyes. He broke his soft lips apart, drawing out a long and deep breath, and then gave her a faint hint of a smile." I want to say thank you for everything. Without your help I would have never been able to find Bucky." He lowered his head forlornly downward. "It means a lot to me, Natasha."

"Don't mention, Steve." Natasha replied in a firm voice, mirroring his smile. She pressed herself closer, and brandished his smooth cheek with a gentle chaste kiss. The heat of her lips barely touched the distinctive line near the edge of his lip as he gave her a gentle smirk. When she created more distance between them, she breathed in the heady scent of his turbid aftershave that lingered on his strong jaw. She snapped her eyes up; locking her gaze with his unvarying blue eyes and brought her hand back to his earnest face. "Maybe after when the heat is down, and I have new cover, we'll catch up and find something else to add on your list."

Steve looked at her full, light rose colored lips, and his abashed expression bled away into a semblance of tenderness. He sensed the tempest whirling within her soul. He wanted to help her. He wanted to become her harbor to swim back to when the fury of the storms clashed around her.

He shook his head and sighed, "No...No, that's not really...I just to spend more time with you." His words fell into a hesitant pitch of urgency. Pain was evident in his blue eyes. Tears begun to gather at the surface of his lashes. He was plagued with the broken promise he had made to Peggy Carter. He wasn't about to make the same old mistake twice. He needed to break those shackles and release everything as the world fell away in a daring moment. His heart was guiding from back to her. "Natasha, I think I need more practice."

"Practice," Natasha echoed back, with a sultry tone. She knew he was a victim of circumstance. A prestige of a man who held no dimness in his soul. She knew it deeply, because he was the other half of her shattered reflection, a missing piece that would complete her. There were parallels between them, darkness and light, serum and blood. She understood that aspect of truth, and somehow it was going to become a fight to preserve it.

As she leaned in closer, her restless spirit was eager to feel the warmth solidify against her. Uncompromising. Heat. Each moment she chanced to stare at his clear blue eyes, she was reaching an ultimatum to fully disarm herself. SHIELD was buried in the smoldering embers, and sinking deep into murky pools of the Potomac River. The Black Widow, the veils she'd hid behind for years was slowly being stripped away, but the remainders of her dark past was ingrained beyond flesh, blood and bone.

Feeling a twist of hope, she summoned all her complexities, and swept her keen eyes over the fullness of his waiting lips.

The Black Widow crawled back into her web, and refused to him to invade her domain."I think you might survive the game," she whispered, holding his intent stare, and then she added. "Although, I can't grantee there will be victory, Steve."

"Sometimes there needs to be sacrifice to have victory," Steve professed, his face fell into a withering expression. He didn't back down when her shields went up. He embraced his broad arms around curves of her hips and locked her lithe body against him. She wanted to confess the reason why she can't love, discard her masks and breathe with ease. It's felt like a curse that was hard to break.

Natasha wished that maybe in another life time of seventy years, they had met each other through love affairs and the rampant desires and built a life on that. No sins or scars. Just commitment, trust and security. She believed herself as dead weight for his heart to carry, and quickly tried to escape from him.

"You don't know what you're saying." she replied, coldness seeped from her lips. She couldn't wound him. Not Steve Rogers. He was steadfast, noble and filled with endless light. He never ran from the storms that devoured his world. He faced them, spearheading and breaching the eye of the tempest. It was no wonder, Peggy Carter loved him. Steve was real, pure and free. A dream to pierce through the hellish nightmares. She was dark as sin. "One kiss doesn't mean a thing. You have to experience pain and taste blood before you find a reason claim someone as yours."

Steve curled his fingers tenderly under her chin; tilting her head up to meet his lips. In the moment of grasping onto a sense of release, Natasha tried to push him away, clasping her hand around his wrist—her heart was battering wildly inside her chest. Heat ripped through her veins. Her eyes sought his. They became impassive, and filled with tears. She slammed her eyelids shut, blocking out his face to find her resolve in gloom of her mind. Resistance became absent as Natasha dared herself to unseal her eyelids open, and she found his vigorous azure irises. There was a burgeoning storm in the stillness of his fathomless gaze; fierce energy whirled around his pupils like lightning as he mirrored her reluctance.

She couldn't chase that storm.

"I just want you to be happy, Steve." she lied, curving her lips into a false smile. "Take Sharon out for a coffee and stop looking for ghosts of your past." she said, with a breathless tone. "Live Steve...That's all I can say to you." She placed her hand firmly on his shoulder. "That's an order Captain America," she grounded out, giving him a coy smirk-without disarming her true emotions.

Despite her enhanced conditioning, tortures in the Red Room and watching friends brutally transform into weapons.

She had lost friends because of her resurrection from Natalia Romanova into the nefarious and lethal Soviet assassin with a efficient tradecraft of lying; she still had a heart to remind her every day that she wasn't an instrument of death or an obedient assent: that she could become real, shred off her layers and allow men to touch her heart. The only man whoever became close to doing that was…Steven Grant Rogers the soldier who never came home...a man who defied human resilience, determination, and hope.

Steve nodded in return. His coaxing lips slanted into a half-smile. "I will carry it out," he promised, moulding his hands lightly in soothing motion against her dipped his head down, and moved his face parallel as his urging lips loomed over her mouth. A gust of hot breath flushed her ivory skin. "Natasha," he whispered, the vibration of his low voice rattled through her bones as she felt herself melting further into him.

Lucid images swirled from the recesses of her mind; phantoms of merciless operatives and revolutionaries, graceful silhouettes of ballerinas. Red, vibrant blood dripping into cracks of bullet encased stone. There was an interlude of darkness before she engulfed by a wave vehemence whirling over her. Blinking a few times to regain clarity, Natasha watch the cloudiness drift from her vision. The silence around them spoke in volumes, intermixing with dangerous tension. "I have to go," she said, heart protesting against those lifeless words. She had to break away from him. A pleading look of stability crossed his face. "It's better this way, Steve."

"I know," Steve murmured breathlessly, almost stating like it obvious. He to let her go. She framed her hands over his jaw, and held his dismal gaze. She never broke the magnetic pull between them: she allowed his clear blue eyes to anchor her back. "Just make a promise to me, that you're going to be okay," he requested. His fingers slid over her cheeks and brushed the stray tresses of red back, slow and gentle. "Will you do that for me, Natasha?"

"Don't worry about me," Natasha assured, her lips furling into a smile. "I know how to handle my demons, Steve. I know where to run back to." She splayed her palm over the planes of his chest. Her feverish skin indulged on the powerful surges of his heartbeat while her teal eyes grew softer and more sincere. His indomitable heart and trust was the greatest weapon he used against her, but she refused to surrender even though she was devoted to him-Captain America.

Accepting her words, Steve aligned his lips with her own. He tilted his head slowly and made contact with her wet and hot mouth. Braving himself in that moment, he crashed his lips hard, and drove her into a longing, deep kiss. He fully overtook her mouth, tasting and relishing her, feeling her lips slip and slide underneath his the swell of his.

Natasha didn't move, nor push him away. She closed her eyes, opened herself fully to him—kissing him with equal throes of passion as tears slipped from her eyes and rolled over the corners of her mouth. She kissed him in a way that left him breathless, as a fever spiked through his veins. Her tongue delved in hungry, possessive and powerful tango with his, drawing a moan out of the back of his throat. His knuckles rolled down her upper back, soft and circular. Her fingers kneaded his blonde locks, touching the nape of his neck. He snaked his arms around her waist and held her tight while she searched, tasted and cherished ...she tilted against him. She felt the bulk of his muscles jolt as their lips moved with an unfathomable pace. He leant into her, breathing as their mouths angled, lips still bruising as blood rushed a wild tempo through their hearts.

Natasha trembled as he ran his swollen lips against hers in a sensual, light, and halting journey. She was becoming undone, compromised and whole.

Steve withdrew tentatively, settling his hand on the side of her face as she was still latched to his saturated lips. "I'll be here when you get back," he whispered, departing from her carnal needs. A delicate breath ghosted against her lips. He grasped her arm, she backed away from him, but he didn't let her go. "Be careful, Natasha. This might not be something you can walk away from," he warned, gravely.

Pressing her lips into tight line, Natasha nodded back, "I'll keep that in mind," she said, and twisted her arm out of the clasp of his grip. She walked away with determined, confident steps.

She left him behind and alone while she felt detachment when the abiding heat from his plush lips dissolved over her mouth. Tears burned in her eyes. Her voice was locked in her throat. She shook her head, trying to prevent the drops of regret from trailing over her pale cheeks.

"Nat-"

"Take care of yourself, Steve," she called back with a hint of disclosure, against the light breeze twirling ringlets of red strands across her face. She refused to look back, and stare at him. She refused to allow tears to brand her with a broken heart. She was the Black Widow, men had always been her prey …but Steve wasn't like most of the men she wounded in her past—he was genuine and worth loving. He had become a ray of hope in the darkest of the storms she would face once she made it the curb side of the road.

"Don't look back," she commanded herself, with an unsettled breath. She didn't turn around. Steve wasn't her past: he was glimpse of a promising future.


End file.
